The problem with John Sheppard
by Linnzi
Summary: McKay's point of view, as another mission goes horribly wrong. A little peek into the unique mind of our favourite scientist, and his peculiar friendship with John Sheppard. Whumping for both the boys this time. Chapter 7 and epilogue now up. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The problem with John Sheppard. 

Chapter 1.

_This is dedicated to McKayRocks! -an equal opportunities whumper of the best variety! Thanks to my trusty Beta, Kodiak for her input here. As usual, any mistakes are most definitely and completely my own fault..._

I'm the first to admit that I'm perhaps not the easiest person to get along with. My genius has always resulted in me being an outsider. As a small child, I preferred the company of adults, yet the feeling wasn't mutual. As an adult, I always preferred the company of other geniuses and again that sentiment was not reciprocated, though, in all honesty very few have been able to match my great intellect. I don't suffer fools lightly and why should I? Thus, I've never had any close friends, just acquaintances really. That is, until I met the man lying eerily still on the infirmary bed to the side of me.

I never intended to find myself in another galaxy, facing imminent death and horror at every turn. Yet amidst the terror, stress and wonder of this beautiful city, I'd found something that had always eluded me – friendship. The problem with friendship was one I'd discovered all too quickly – it hurts. Which brought me back to the source of my pain. A certain Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, aka – my newest, all right my one and only, best friend.

As I looked down at the pale, clammy man to the side of me, with tubes snaking in and out of his abused body, I wondered how on Earth - or if I was going to act like the denizen of the wonderful galaxy I had been resident in for the last two years - how on Atlantica, he had managed to get himself in this much trouble – again. Only I could pick myself a best friend who had the most incredible knack of finding himself in mortal danger on a disturbingly and unnaturally regular basis. I mean, what was the statistical probability of that happening? Perhaps I should have written an algorithm to tell me. I'd learned over the course of the past two years that Sheppard was a man who regularly beat the odds, but this time I sadly realised his luck may have finally run out.

Carson walking in to the small curtained off area of the infirmary interrupted my thoughts. He proceeded to check all his instruments of voodoo torture, which he euphemistically called 'life-maintaining apparatus', before turning to me and tutting.

"Rodney, you shouldn't still be here. I told you over an hour ago to go and get some food and rest. Why are you still here?" he asked in his 'I know the answer already, but I'm going to make you tell me anyway' voice.

I wasn't in the mood to mess with Carson, so I answered honestly, my usual astounding and cutting wit having temporarily abandoned me. "I didn't want him to be alone. I promised him I wouldn't leave him, even though he ordered me to. I ask you, as if he could ever order _me_ to do anything." He had. Ordered me to go on without him. He knew I'd never leave him, just as he'd never leave a man behind – leave me behind. That much I'd learned from him.

Carson gave me one of his patronising looks. "Rodney, I already explained to you that he's not going to be waking up anytime soon. There's nothing you can do here. May I remind you that you have seven sutures in your arm, and that you could use some sleep? Or, do I have to search through my giant needle collection to inspire you to go on your merry way and do as you're bloody well told?"

I must have looked at him blankly, as he knelt down to speak to me. "Look, I understand how you feel. But sitting here isn't doing you any good. The last thing I need is you having a hypoglycaemic episode, or collapsing from exhaustion. If you want to help the colonel, then help me, and get some food and sleep. Don't make me get Elizabeth down here – she's got enough on her plate, without you adding to it."

I didn't want to go, didn't want to leave the pale man lying near death all alone. Carson had warned me Sheppard might die, and if that was going to happen, I wanted to be there, even though it would have been much easier, less painful, to just walk away. I couldn't – wouldn't do it. Sheppard would stay if the situation were reversed.

Beckett looked sadly at me, and appearing to understand my resolve, capitulated.

"Okay. You can stay. But, you sleep in a bed next to him. That's my one and only offer, so I'd take it, if I were you," he warned me.

I managed a faltering smile. "Can you at least open the screens, so I can see him?"

"I suppose so. If things get hairy, I'll be closing them again though, is that clear?" he stated.

"Fine. Carson?" I really wanted to ask him. Ask him the question I knew I didn't want to hear the answer to, but I felt so – impotent. "Was there anything I could have done that would have made a difference? I tried to lower my intellect and think voodoo, but…"

Carson put his hand on my shoulder. Partly to get me to shut up, I think, partly to offer me some sort of comfort, or reassurance.

"Rodney, don't be doing this to yourself, lad. I've already told you, there was nothing anyone could have done without proper medical supplies and the knowledge of how to use them." He smiled grimly at me. "You kept him alive and did extremely well, while you were injured. Don't second-guess yourself. Even if I'd been there, in your position, there would have been little more that could have been done." He stood, and tugged on my good arm. "Come on – bed." He ordered. "I'll get Melissa to bring you a sandwich," he added.

As he settled me in the bed next to Sheppard, and covered me with a thin blanket before leaving, I closed my eyes, knowing sleep would elude me. My attempt at rest was interrupted unceremoniously by the alarms around Sheppard's bed suddenly screaming, and I bolted upright in fear. Carson and a nurse rushed by my bed, closing the screens behind them and I just sat there, listening as they frantically fought for my friend's life. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the noise, and thought about the events that had led to the sorry situation I found myself in.

-oOo-

The mission was supposed to be a simple one – aren't the one's that end in disaster always? A 'walk in the park' Sheppard had called it. Just trading negotiations with a simple, decent, though I think primitive summed it up best, people. We'd recently discovered yet another wonderfully lush, green world on G6B-104, and met the Annarians, who were willing to possibly trade fruit and vegetables for basic medical supplies and tools. We'd headed off, blissfully ignorant of the impending disaster ahead. Story of our lives, really.

Sheppard turned and waved to Elizabeth, smiling that patented cocky half smile of his. She'd muttered her usual 'Be safe' before we departed, a selection of items for possible trade in tow, with Ronon acting as packhorse, or was it mule? Not that I'd ever have the temerity to say that to him. I'm many things, but completely witless isn't one of them.

After exiting the gate, we trudged happily, well they did, anyway, to the village we'd been instructed to head to. There we met Alden, the leader of the village, and man we hoped to trade with.

I watched Sheppard as he shook Alden's hand, and smiled. As I gazed at the proceedings, I thought to myself how good Sheppard was at this sort of thing. People always liked him when they first met him. He was charming, tactful and polite – everything I wasn't.

Sheppard calling me over brought me out of my reverie.

"Rodney, come and meet Alden. Alden, this is Dr. Rodney McKay. I'm sure Rodney here'd like to try some of your fruits, especially the citrus type one's – he's especially fond of them," he quipped.

I grimaced. "Oh yes, very amusing. You'll have to forgive the colonel's attempt at humour, Alden. He knows only too well that I'm allergic to citrus, and that one taste could potentially kill me," I answered, perhaps a little more testily than I should have.

Alden stared at me in shock. "I am most alarmed to hear that, Dr. McKay. I do not know what this 'citrus' is. Perhaps the colonel should taste everything before you try it?"

It was my turn to tease. "Alden, you are a very wise man." The Annarian smiled at me in satisfaction. I turned to Sheppard. "Colonel, what a wonderful idea! It appears you've been appointed my personal food-taster. An incredible honour, I assure you, unless you're not up for the challenge?"

Sheppard took his sunglasses out of his pocket and grinned, before putting them on. "Always up to anything you could challenge me to, Rodney," he answered cheerfully. Sometimes the man infuriated me. I honestly had expected him to flatly and indignantly refuse, or make a witty, sniping retort. No, he had to be charming. Sometimes I really wanted to throttle him.

Taste all the fruit and vegetables, he dutifully did. Teyla and Ronon helped too- the latter with his usual gusto. As it happened, there was only one citrus-like fruit, a red lemon thing, which I obviously avoided like the plague.

After three hours of negotiating, which for once Sheppard handled competently, we left the village, agreeing to send Stackhouse's team the following week with the supplies in exchange for a selection of the Annarian's delightful produce.

It was on the walk back to the 'gate that everything fell to pieces.

We'd been walking along merrily- well again, _they _had- minding our own business, when both Teyla and Ronon simultaneously cocked their guns, reacting to an unseen threat.

Sheppard eyed both of them, asking, "Guys? What's up?" Like me, Sheppard knew only too well never to ignore the instincts of either of the two members of our team who were indigenous to the Pegasus Galaxy.

It was Ronon who answered. "Up there, at the top off the cliff. Saw a flash. Maybe the scope of a gun. We should take cover – now," he urgently grunted.

As my brain comprehended the words, the first shot rang out. I distantly heard Sheppard ordering us to take cover, and out of the corner of my eye, saw Ronon and Teyla heading for the dense forest nearby, Sheppard in pursuit. Me? I just stood there, like a deer in the headlights, frozen in fear. I was aware of a whooshing sound as a bullet flew by my arm, and felt the burn as it grazed my flesh on it's trajectory past me.

Sheppard yelling as he ran towards me, brought me back to my senses, just that little bit too late. I felt him crash into me, sending us both flying across the dirt track we were on, him landing less than gracefully on top of me. I struggled to breathe as air was summarily knocked from my lungs. I waited for him to roll off of me, but he didn't move. We just lay there, sitting ducks, Sheppard shielding my body as shots hit the earth around us. I knew then that he was going to die, heroically, saving me, and at that moment, I rued the day I'd ever met John Sheppard.

Tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

_Thank you for the wonderful reviews! Thanks to my beta, Kodiak for her wonderful editing skills and tremendous support. All mistakes are my own._

As I struggled to breathe, I managed to wheeze a complaint, "Sheppard! Get the hell off me, I can't breathe." Still, he remained motionless on top of me. I summoned all my strength to push him off, succeeding after what seemed like an eternity. As I pushed him, shots rang out, hitting the ground around us.

Ronon suddenly burst from the cover of the trees, firing methodically at the cliffs and surrounding area, Teyla firing from the cover of the forest. How he managed to drag me, and a now mobile Sheppard to the relative safety of the wooded area was beyond me, but he did just that.

As I slumped to the ground I felt the pain in my arm ignite. I groaned as I looked at Ronon and Teyla in disbelief.

"My arm. I'm bleeding!" I cried out in astonishment, as I looked at my blood-soaked sleeve "I think Sheppard broke at least two of my ribs when he tackled me!" I complained.

It was at that moment I looked at Sheppard for the first time. Ronon had sat him down propped up against a tree, while he moved to fuss over Teyla, whose head was bleeding, a line of blood slowly trickling down the side of her face.

I suddenly noticed that Sheppard hadn't uttered a word and that he was sitting upright, eyes half-closed, panting in shallow breaths. Thinking that he had hurt his ribs too, I looked at him and gave him a piece of my mind, "Hah! That's what you get for being a human shield. Broken ribs hurt, don't they?" I asked, knowing full well that neither of us had really damaged them seriously.

My anger quickly dissipated, when he didn't reply in his usual laconic tone, but instead whispered, "Ungrateful bastard," before coughing and hunching over.

It was then my eyes wandered down to the side of his chest nearest to me, and I noticed his hand clenched against the gap in his vest, blood oozing through his fingers.

"Oh God, you're bleeding! What's wrong, why are you bleeding?" I asked, concern instantly hitting me.

Turning his head to look at me, Sheppard half-smiled, before hoarsely answering in a patronising voice, "When you get shot you bleed, Rodney." He squinted at me, obviously noticing the blood on my arm. "You okay? Your arm's bleeding," he asked in concern, his voice sounding a little breathless.

"Ah, I got shot too," I numbly replied, instantly realising Sheppard's wound looked a lot more serious than my graze. I moved over to him, and my gaze shifted to Teyla and Ronon. Teyla was sitting on the ground, a field dressing pressed to her temple.

"I am fine, Ronon. Please check on the colonel and Rodney," I heard her say.

Ronon walked over to me, gun at the ready, and eyed my wound and just snorted, obviously dismissing my injury as insignificant. He crouched next to Sheppard, unzipping his vest and jacket, and lifted his black t-shirt, nudging Sheppard's hand out of the way. I saw the Satedan grimace as he weighed up the severity of the wound, gently prodding around the area with his fingers.

"McKay," he growled, "Get me a field dressing from your rucksack – now."

I sat there, feeling numb as his words washed over me. This couldn't be happening, I distantly thought.

"McKay, I need that dressing NOW!" he shouted at me.

I fumbled in my rucksack, and handed him a dressing, and watched as he pressed it firmly into Sheppard's side, flinching as I heard Sheppard's soft moan.

I watched as Sheppard looked into Ronon's face. "How bad?" he simply asked.

Ronon grunted. "Bad. Looks like it's shattered a rib, probably done a bit of damage internally too. You finding it hard to breathe?"

Sheppard smiled, and it was then that I noticed his usually pearly white teeth were flecked with streaks of bright red blood. "Yeah, a little," he whispered hoarsely, before he doubled over and coughed, a fine mist of blood spraying into the air around him.

"Oh my God," was all I could manage to say.

"S'okay, Rodney. I've had worse," he answered, trying to reassure me, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He always did that in moments of crisis. He forgot about himself, and just made sure everybody else was okay. Guilt washed over me, as I realised I'd chastised him for knocking me down, when he'd saved me from a bullet which had had my name on it. Why did he always have to be so self-sacrificing? Didn't he realise that putting himself in danger to save me was hurting me more than any bullet ever could have?

"What about the shooter?" Sheppard paused, taking a few shallow breaths, "Any idea how many up there?" he asked Ronon. I noticed he was starting to sound wheezy.

"Saw at least two, probably more. They're bound to be on the move. We need to get out of here. Can you move?" he asked.

Sheppard managed a soft laugh, before wincing in pain, "No. Go back to the 'gate and get help. Take Teyla and Rodney with you," he ordered.

"I'll stay with him," I said to Ronon. "You and Teyla go. I won't leave him behind."

Sheppard grimaced, anger showing on his pale features. "You'll do what I damn well say, McKay," he managed to grind out.

Teyla interrupted our little disagreement. "I will go and bring help. It is a short distance. Ronon will stay here. You will need him to protect you."

Ronon nodded. "Agreed. You okay to do this?" he asked Teyla.

"My wound is not serious. I will be fine," she answered, and smiled down at Sheppard, before running through the forest towards the 'gate.

"McKay, you need to put your hand here," he gestured towards the dressing pressed against Sheppard's side, "And press firmly. We need to stop the bleeding."

I took my shaking hand and placed it where Ronon's had been. He looked briefly around, before looking at Sheppard.

"I need to sit you up a bit. Want to see if the bullet's still in you, okay?" he asked the colonel.

Sheppard just nodded weakly.

"I'll need your help, McKay. Can you manage with your arm?" he nodded in the direction of my bloody sleeve.

"Yes. It's only a graze," I somewhat stoically answered. Yes, I have always been… a little over zealous in my desire to have my injuries and illnesses not over-looked, but this time my only concern was for my friend. Sheppard and his much-lauded 'high threshold for pain' -and didn't that just make the nurses swoon - was regularly thrown in my face, by Carson. Our resident voodoo expert would hold the brave colonel up as a shining example of the perfect patient, that is, until he was invariably caught attempting to make his escape from Carson's clutches. When that happened, suddenly I became the model patient. Oh, the irony!

We lifted Sheppard forward between us, even with my injured arm complaining loudly, as Ronon felt behind Sheppard, and then gently lowered him back to his former resting place.

Ronon looked at me. "Bullet's still in there," he said nonchalantly.

"Is that good or bad?" I asked. I had no idea what difference, if any, that would make.

"Could be lodged somewhere dangerous," he answered.

Sheppard chose that moment to cough again. This time more blood sprayed from his mouth, and I watched as he closed his eyes in pain, re-opening them to slits, before whispering, "Listen…Go. Now. Leave me."

"Just shut the hell up, Sheppard. We go together, or not at all," I told him.

Ronon suddenly turned his head, sniffing the air, rather like a tracker dog that'd suddenly found a scent. "They're on the move. I can track them down. Stay here, I won't be long," he mumbled, before running silently off.

I immediately got my 9 mil out at the ready. All of those gun-toting sessions with Sheppard had better have worked, I thought to myself.

"R'dney," Sheppard slurred. "I'm…ordering you to go. Can't move…jus' go," he ground out, stopping to draw in rattled breaths as he spoke.

"I won't leave you, so just shut the hell up." It's possible I may have whined a little when I told him that.

The field dressing was saturated with blood, and rummaging awkwardly in my vest with my injured arm, I found a new one, and pressed it down on top of the old dressing. Sheppard hissed in pain.

"Sorry," was all I could think to say. I was in charge of him now. With Teyla and Ronon both gone, it was up to me to protect Sheppard, and as I anxiously scanned the trees around us, I wasn't exactly sure I was up to the job.

A sudden crack of a snapping twig had me spinning around, gun at the ready, my hand immediately leaving Sheppard's wound, as I was faced with a very angry looking Genii soldier, gun pointed directly at me. All I could think was, what would Sheppard do? Without any more thought, I pulled the trigger, aiming for the soldier's chest, just like Sheppard had taught me. The look of shock on the Genii's face was priceless, though I'm sure it wasn't as wonderful a sight as the expression on my face. I'd actually hit the man. Those sessions _had_ taught me something, after all.

Now in professional grunt mode, I ran over to the Genii soldier, and kicked his gun away, before looking at him. Dead. He was obviously dead- eyes staring lifelessly up at me. I ran back to Sheppard to see him grinning.

"Nice. Riggs'd be proud," was all he managed to choke out, his inane Lethal Weapon joke completely not hitting its mark.

I had returned to my job as nurse, pressing the wound again, when I noticed Sheppard's breathing was really starting to sound raspy. I could hear a gurgle in his exhale, and guessed his lung was probably filling up with blood.

For the first time on this mission I was terrified, really terrified. Yes, I'd been scared when the attack happened, concerned when I realised Sheppard had been shot. Certainly, I had felt fear when the Genii soldier appeared. But now, I felt terror as I realised I didn't know how to help Sheppard. He was drowning in his own blood, and I knew Carson would become the MacGyver of the medical world, and fashion a chest tube out of a pen, or something equally as ridiculous, if he were here. But he wasn't. I was, and I didn't have a clue what to do. I mean, what good was it being a genius, if you couldn't stop your best friend from bleeding to death internally? Especially when it was your fault that he was injured in the first place.

"Try and breathe slowly," I told Sheppard, not having any idea if that was the right thing to say. I had to at least attempt to show Sheppard I was in control, and taking care of him, when giving comfort was hardly my forté.

Sheppard just smiled weakly at me, struggling to draw oxygen into his lungs. He suddenly coughed violently, this time splattering blood down the front of his vest, before collapsing to the ground. I quickly moved to help him, and saw the fear in his eyes, as he choked on his blood. He gave me a final look, before his eyes closed and he exhaled. I thought he'd finally lost consciousness - until I realised he was no longer breathing.

Then I really panicked. I muttered to myself over and over, "Shit, shit…what do I do?" Then I remembered the basic first-aid training Carson had insisted we all endure. I felt Sheppard's neck for a pulse, and was relieved to find a pulse, albeit thready and erratic. At least it was there. I knew if I didn't do something promptly, it wouldn't be for much longer, so I instinctively turned Sheppard on to his back, tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and blew into his bloody mouth. Three times I repeated the exercise, until I was rewarded with a spluttering cough as he expelled more blood from his airway. I nearly gagged as I witnessed the gory sight in front of me. I've never tolerated the sight of blood well, and there was plently of it here for me to ogle. Sheppard had started to breathe noisily again, but I knew it was only a matter of time before resuscitation would be futile. He needed the blood drained from his chest, and I didn't know how to do it.

As if I didn't already feel bad enough, I was suddenly aware of the tackiness of drying blood on my face, and I jerkily rubbed at the blood that had smeared from his face onto mine. This was really turning into possibly the worst moment of my life, I thought.

That was until I was aware of the eerie silence. He'd stopped breathing again. Cursing, I again attempted resuscitation, but this time he didn't cough. He didn't move at all. I knew it was useless. I'd suffered something I rarely had experienced in my life – failure. I'd failed to keep Sheppard alive.

Tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

The problem with John Sheppard. 

Chapter 3

_Thank you all so much for the reviews, they really are so helpful.I was pretty worried thatI'd not found McKay's voice here, and have come to realise I'm more like McKay than I care to admit! Thank you to Kodiak, again, for her beta skills. She really is an incredible inspiration to me. All mistakes are my own._

The familiar sound of a Puddle Jumper in the air above jolted me back to reality. Within minutes, I was aware of footsteps, and I rose to my feet, not caring if any more Genii were lurking. Quite honestly, I'd passed the point of caring what happened to me. My gene for self-preservation, which had previously been dominant, had obviously suddenly withered and died – along with my friend.

"Help!" I called. "He's not breathing!"

Not the most eloquent of words, I grant you, but I didn't know what else to say. It's not often that I find verbalising a challenge, but something about the illustrious colonel frequently threw me off balance. I could out-snark the most challenging of rivals, but Sheppard – he seemed to beat me at my own game. I was often lost for words around him, and that was something we both seemed to thrive on. After the events we'd just endured, I prayed that he would survive and still be around to keep me on my toes in the future.

That was another thing Sheppard did to me. I am not a religious man. My great intelligence and education gave me the blinding epiphany when I was a child, that despite what my parents had drummed in to me, there was no single God. No one great ethereal being 'up there' controlling our destinies. How could there be, when logic and science explained everything? Yet, every time Sheppard was at death's door – and wasn't that happening on a far too regular basis to be good for my hypertension? – I found myself praying. To whom, you might ask? I have no idea, but it simply made me feel better to believe that there was someone up there who was listening to my pleas, and that maybe, just maybe, they would take pity on me and not let my friend die. Logically, I suppose there comes a time when we all have to look somewhere for faith, someone, something to guide us through the inevitable 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune'. I don't think I'm being unreasonable in admitting that I'm astounded that I would chose a deity, whose existence could never be proven by logic or science, to do just that for me.

I exhaled in relief as I saw Carson heading towards me, medical bag slung over his shoulder, as he huffed and puffed his way over.

He moved at lightning speed, checking Sheppard's vitals, stethoscope on the colonel's chest. He didn't utter a word, as he snapped on surgical gloves, swabbed pale flesh, and deftly made an incision in the side of Sheppard's chest, after counting down God knows how many ribs. I gulped as I watched blood and air spurt out, onto the ground, over Beckett – everywhere. He then inserted a tube, and I felt queasy as I saw the blood flowing through the tube at an alarming rate. I wondered if there was an equation that I could use here to help me calculate at what rate a person could bleed out, without them dying. I decided even if there was one, or I could devise one, that I'd really rather not know.

"Shelly!" I heard Beckett call to his nurse, " Can you start an IV, and get some O neg. in him, then start another with gelofusine?" I saw the nurse nod and efficiently go about her task.

Beckett returned his stethoscope to his patient's chest and cursed at what he found there - or didn't.

"Damn. No respiratory effort. Melissa," he called again, this time to his other trusted nurse, "Can you pass me the intubation kit?"

The nurse nodded and soon Beckett had Sheppard's head tilted back as he inserted the laryngoscope into his patient's throat.

"I can't see his vocal chords, there's too much blood. I need some suction, Melissa," he barked.

The nurse inserted something into Sheppard's throat, I didn't see what, as by then I honestly thought I was going to faint, that is to say - pass out. As I heard a slurping sound, I looked away. I'd really seen more blood in the last hour than I ever wanted to see again -ever. I then heard Beckett sigh in relief, and as I dared to look again, I inwardly sighed in relief, as I saw that Carson had achieved his goal.

"Right, let's bag him," he ordered.

I've always teased Carson mercilessly about his lack of scientific skills. Medicine isn't a science as far as I'm concerned. Too much second-guessing and inaccuracy for that. Yet, even I couldn't deny that in a medical crisis Carson sprung to life, acting with a professionalism and determination that was inspirational, to say the least.

I saw him look at Sheppard's wound, shaking his head, and apply a fresh dressing, pressing firmly down on it. Beckett then signalled two of his medical team, and they carefully lifted Sheppard onto the waiting litter.

Ronon chose that moment to put in an appearance. He looked at Sheppard, then over at the dead Genii, and snorted.

"You do that, McKay?" he grunted, jerking his head in the direction of the corpse lying a few feet away.

I just nodded, returning my eyes to Sheppard, as the nurse pushed air into his lungs.

Beckett's voice rang out, "Right, let's get him to the jumper." He then turned to look at me. "Rodney? Come on, let's go."

I must have stumbled, because the next thing I knew, I felt a strong hand on my arm, hauling me to my feet, and then guiding me into the waiting jumper. I was gently pushed onto a seat in the back, and as I watched Carson fuss over Sheppard, I looked up to see Ronon standing over me.

"You okay? You look pale," he murmured.

I sat there feeling completely detached from everything. In my head, all I could see was Sheppard struggling to breathe, then the blood, and finally his pale, lifeless features. I must have zoned out, as then next thing I was aware of, Carson was standing over me. I vaguely was aware of the sensation as he cut away the sleeve of my jacket, and then placed something on my wound - a dressing.

"That's nasty, Rodney," he said quietly, "Why didn't you put a dressing on it, you daft bugger?"

In all the panic, it hadn't even occurred to me. I'd neglected my own wound to care for somebody else –Sheppard. Since when did I care more about someone else's welfare more than my own? After the childhood I'd endured, I'd learned to put myself first; if I hadn't looked after my own interests, I knew nobody else would have. In coming to Atlantis everything had changed. I had found a family, of sorts, and Sheppard had become an irritating brother to me, the brother you loved to hate, and hated to love, but you did it anyway, you just couldn't help yourself.

"Rodney?" Carson's gentle voice startled me. "Are you all right, lad?" he asked, in professional voodoo mode again.

I laughed, perhaps a little maniacally, "No. No, I'm not. I've had a really shitty day. My best friend is probably going to die and it's all my fault. So, no, I'm not all right, thank you very much, Carson!" I felt anger take over, as I lost control of my previous state of disassociation.

Carson just tutted. "No need to get stroppy, Rodney. I know you're worried, but you need to calm down. It won't help the colonel, you getting yourself all worked up like this," he admonished.

"Sorry…sorry. He just…I didn't know what to do…and," I mumbled incoherently until I felt a prick in my shoulder. "What? What did you do?" I asked.

"Just a little something to help you relax, Rodney. We'll be back in Atlantis in a minute, then we'll get the colonel and you sorted out. Okay?" Carson soothed.

I didn't answer him, as I felt the world around me tilt, and everything blur. Through a tunnel of fog, I distantly heard Carson tell Ronon to lie me down, and as the darkness approached, my foggy brain again reminded me of Sheppard, struggling to draw in a breath, fear evident in his eyes. I drunkenly muttered, "The problem with John Sheppard is - it hurts to be his friend." Whether those in the 'Jumper heard my incoherent mumbling, I'll never know, but they were words never more truly spoken.

Tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

_Thanks for the reviews! Thanks also to Kodiak for being such a great beta! All mistakes are my own..._

I woke up later, to find myself in an infirmary bed, IV in hand, wounded arm in a sling – me in scrubs. I felt dry mouthed and groggy and as I looked blearily around, the first thing I noticed was that I was alone.

How many times had I woken up in the infirmary with Sheppard lying in the bed next to me? Too many times, was the answer to that question. Invariably, one of us had saved the other from danger, but more often than not he'd saved me. When I went to thank him for his selfless heroics, he always said it was his job. Sheppard didn't want praise or adulation, he just wanted acceptance, of who he was, what he did – he was always so unselfish in that regard – unlike me. I loved to hear people praise me – still do. I suppose after my childhood that's not surprising – at least that's what Kate Heightmeyer is always telling me. I knew that Sheppard hadn't exactly had a Brady Bunch upbringing either, which made my craving for approval even worse, in my eyes. Since when did I develop insecurities? Since I'd found a friend and he'd made me unwittingly realise a few home truths, that's when.

Suddenly the reality of my situation hit me. If I was here alone, where the hell was Sheppard? Fear gripped me in the pit of my stomach, as I remembered recent events.

I'd obviously been asleep for a considerable amount of time. After all, I'd been sutured, I could feel the pull of those in my wounded arm, and dressed in the delightful scrubs – off-white has never been my colour. Sheppard always looked good in scrubs, or so I'd heard the nurses say, then again the man looked good in everything. Sometimes life's wasn't fair in that regard.

So, if I was here alone, there were only two possibilities as to Sheppard's whereabouts. He was still in surgery – or, dead. I prayed for the former.

I furiously scrambled out of my bed, yanking back sheets, stumbling over the IV pole, in my quest for the truth. It wasn't long before I stumbled upon Elizabeth, quietly sitting in a chair in the far corner of the infirmary, head in hands. As I despondently meandered towards her, she looked up at me and I could see the pain in her eyes. He couldn't be dead, could he? I'd prayed, hadn't I? Surely my very own personal deity wouldn't let me down? Not when I'd prayed on such an alarmingly regular basis.

I managed to grind out the most painful question I'd ever had to ask anybody.

"He's not dead, is he?" I gulped.

Elizabeth stood up immediately, concern in her eyes. She walked towards me, and I shrunk away from the compassionate hand that snaked towards my arm.

"God, no," she simply replied. Elizabeth had never been an emotional person. Rarely had I seen her lose her temper, or witnessed the armour of steel around her buckle. Yet those two words conveyed all of her fears and anxieties better than any histrionics or weeping ever could have.

She led me to her chair, pushing me gently down, and knelt in front of me.

"John's still in surgery. They've been in there for five hours now," she explained, the armour firmly in place again. "It's been pretty busy in there, but I cornered a nurse a while ago, and she told me, though they'd lost him twice, that things had improved. All being well, Carson will be finished soon, and he'll tell us what the situation is."

At that moment Carson came bursting through the infirmary doors, exhaustion etched into his features, worry evident in his eyes.

"Rodney, what are you doing up?" he asked, obviously surprised at seeing me sitting there.

Sarcasm got the better of me. "I thought I'd take a little walk. The infirmary is lovely at this time of year, don't you think, Carson?"

He let out a puff of air, and gave me a withering look. "I've just spent the last five hours in surgery, Rodney, and I'm not in the mood for your snippy tongue," he chastised.

"Sorry," I muttered, feeling a little embarrassed at my outburst.

Carson, patted me on my good arm, and sighed.

"That's okay, lad. I know you're just worried." He paused, as if plucking up the courage to give us the much-awaited news of our friend. "Well, don't ask me how, but the colonel survived the surgery – by the skin of his teeth, I might add. We'll be moving him into the intensive care area shortly."

He must have seen Elizabeth's and my elated expressions, as he put up a hand and shook his head in caution.

"I have to warn you, that although I believe the surgery was successful, he's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. He suffered massive blood loss, and hypoxia is a real issue. Since I don't know how long his brain was deprived of oxygen on the planet, I can't predict if he's suffered any brain damage yet. There are other possible complications from the blood loss as well, so I don't want you to get your hopes up too much," he advised us, concern in his voice.

I took in Carson's words, and though my brain told me the news wasn't the best, my heart just grasped fervently at the word 'survived'.

"Can we see him?" I heard Elizabeth tentatively ask.

"Aye. When he's been settled in Intensive Care. Give me twenty minutes, and I'll let you have a brief visit," he answered, stressing the word 'brief'.

Elizabeth nodded. "I should go and let Teyla and Ronon know the news. I sent them off a short while ago to get some food."

As she started to walk towards the door, she turned, and warmly smiled at Carson.

"Well done, Carson. Thank you, for bringing him back to us," she simply said, before leaving.

Carson frowned after her. "I've done all I can, love. The rest is up to him," he sadly muttered to himself.

"Right, you," Carson said brightly, having obviously gathered his wits, "Bed – now. I've got work to do, and I can't be worrying about what you're up to."

He led me over to my bed, taking over the pushing of the IV pole, and ushered me under the warm covers.

Never one to beat about the proverbial bush, I asked him what I really needed to know.

"What are his chances?"

Life for me was all about probability. Knowing the figures helped me make informed decisions. Self-preservation had always been my driving force – that, and the quest for knowledge, and if I was going to survive this disaster, I needed to understand the numbers. That's all I could deal in.

Carson looked at me wearily.

"I'm not going to give you a percentage, Rodney!" he exclaimed. "That would be medically inaccurate, and a purely educated guess," he explained.

"I thought that's how the voodoo worked, Carson," I retorted, grimacing as I realised pissing off my doctor wasn't the wisest course of action – especially when considering his ample needle collection.

"I know you're worried, but I can't tell you anymore than I already have," he soothed, ignoring my jibe at his chosen vocation. "There is a possibility the colonel will die. Even if he makes it through this, there may be other problems to deal with. But," he paused for thought. "If he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, and _if _my tests reveal no damage from the hypoxia, then he has a fair chance of making a full recovery. It really is just too soon to tell."

I nodded my head in understanding; not really wanting to accept his words, but knowing that sometimes life didn't give you the answers you so desperately craved. It really was a matter of 'wait and see'. Unfortunately for me, that wasn't something I did easily.

"I want you to get some rest now. I'll let Elizabeth and the rest of your team visit the colonel first, then you can see him later, when I'm sure you're not going to keel over, and when you've got a decent meal inside you. Understood?" Carson asked.

I nodded again, too tired to argue, too worried to care.

As Carson walked away, I suddenly had the compulsion to tell him something.

"Carson!" I called.

He turned around and looked at me quizzically, no doubt wondering what I could possibly want to discuss further.

"Thanks for fighting for him. He'd want me to tell you that," I simply said.

"Aye, that he would. Get some rest, son," he ordered, before leaving me to do just that.

-oOo-

Eight hours later, I was sitting by Sheppard's bed, and what a sight for sore eyes he was. Covered in a thin sheet, warming blanket on top, he just lay there, eerily motionless, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the ventilator efficiently serving its purpose. His skin looked like alabaster, hair sticking up as usual, its ebony a contrast to the ivory of his complexion.

Tubes snaked in and out from under the sheet, IV's were scattered across his body, one in his left hand, one in his neck and a third in his right forearm.

The only moderately amusing thing was that the nurses had shaved small patches of his chest hair, where they'd stuck the adhesive pads for the heart monitor, which beeped merrily away. I knew he'd love that, when he woke up - if he woke up.

I sat there for hours, talking to Sheppard. Discussing my theory for unification with myself, my hypothesis on re-charging ZPM's – anything to fill the unnerving silence.

Elizabeth came and went. Holding Sheppard's hand, telling him to fight, that she needed him, as she sat next to him. She was so much better at the friendship game than me.

As I sat there feeling more alone as each moment passed, Ronon suddenly sat down next to me. The master of stating the obvious, and man of few words that he was, he simply muttered, "He doesn't look so good."

I just stared at the gargantuan hairy He-Man, who Sheppard so aptly called 'Chewie'. Several sarcastic remarks were on the tip of my tongue, yet I could only manage a pathetic, "No, he doesn't."

Ronon seemed to be considering what to say next. "You think Beckett can do anymore for him? He's a pretty good doctor," he asked. Despite his calm exterior, I could sense his anger at what had happened to Sheppard, and his fear that this could be the end of the line for our team leader.

I felt so tired, so numb, yet I knew Carson had done everything, and was continuing to do all that was possible to help Sheppard.

"Beckett's the best there is, Ronon," I answered, surprised at my lavish praise. "If the colonel dies, it won't be because Carson hasn't tried everything humanly possible to save him. It'll be because there was nothing more anyone could do." I dejectedly replied.

Ronon snorted. "Sheppard's a fighter, he'll survive. Recognised it in him the first time we met. Just wanted to make sure he was getting the best help," he shrugged.

After those few words, he stood, squeezed Sheppard's exposed arm roughly, and left.

-oOo-

After more hours of sitting at Sheppard's bed, Carson had tried to send me away, reluctantly agreeing for me to sleep next to Sheppard. Which brought me back to the situation I now found myself in, sitting up in bed, stomach in my throat, listening as Carson fought for my friend.

The wailing alarms ceased, and I panicked. Stumbling out of bed, fear coursing through my veins, I made my way to the curtain separating me from my friend. Opening it, I saw Beckett standing by Sheppard, shaking his head.

"Carson?" I managed to gulp.

He turned to me, and I saw the concern on his face. "Rodney, I told you to rest."

"I couldn't, not when with the alarms screeching. What's wrong? Tell me he's not…" I couldn't bring myself to say the word dead. It just stuck in my throat, as I felt a pain in my chest, the ferocity of which took my breath away. This friendship thing hurt, like a knife to the heart.

Carson looked at me, exasperated. "No. He's not dead. But we have a wee problem. I need to get him back into surgery; he's got some sluggish bleeding, which hasn't settled, and his pressure's not so great. It's possible we missed something the first time round," he explained, guilt etched into his features.

Surgery, again? I knew that that had to be bad. "Carson, will he survive more surgery? Surely it's too risky?" I questioned. As if I had the right to question Carson. I know I was frightened, but questioning him like that was unfair, and I regretted my words the second they'd escaped my lips.

Carson just stared at me dejectedly, his brow creasing in thought, then anger showing on his face.

"I realise you're an expert at everything, Rodney, but please don't question me on this. Last time I looked, you didn't have an M.D." Strong words, and I deserved them.

He obviously thought better of his outburst, as his expression softened a little.

"We really don't have a choice. I can tell you that if we do nothing – he will die. I thought we'd caught every bleeder, obviously I was wrong."

He patted me on my good arm, and strode off, quietly barking orders at his staff.

I looked over at Sheppard, and Carson was right, he looked even worse than before; his skin almost translucent, forehead beaded in sweat.

I gingerly made my way over to his bed, and bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Don't make me regret being your friend, Sheppard. The problem with you, is that you have little regard for your own welfare. If you were really my friend, you'd know that your insistence at playing Colonel Courageous is hurting me, and I don't like that. I wasn't meant to suffer. So stop hogging the limelight, pull yourself together and stop being so melodramatic. I mean, all this 'near death' stuff? I've had enough. So, I want you to go into surgery, stop bleeding and come out better, okay? Otherwise I might not want to be your friend anymore. I hope I've made myself clear?"

I walked back to my bed, and watched as the nurses moved his bed towards the surgical suite, wondering if that would be the last time I would see Sheppard alive.

Tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

_Thanks for the reviews! Thanks, as usual to Kodiak for her editing and beta skills, where would I be without you? All mistakes are mine._

Two hours later and Sheppard was still in surgery. I hadn't managed to get any rest, but had sat on my bed, wringing my hands together, despite the complaint from my injured arm in the sling. For the first time in my life I understood about using physical pain to punish myself; it really did make me feel better to use my discomfort to keep me focused on what Sheppard was going through, and to remind myself that his precarious situation was ultimately my fault. How could I rest and be comfortable when my friend was the unwilling participant in another one of Carson's search and find missions?

A gentle hand on my shoulder brought me back to what could loosely be regarded as awareness, and I turned to see Teyla sitting beside me on my bed, smiling serenely.

"Rodney, are you feeling better?" she gently enquired.

I pondered her question. Physically I was in pain and tired – no, exhausted. Yet my physical pain paled into insignificance when taking into account my emotional suffering. Why had I allowed myself to become attached to someone whose very nature determined that he would constantly be injured or in danger? How had I managed to let my genius slip, and make such a mistake of gargantuan proportions?

I gulped. "No, I'm not," I answered, desperately trying to fight the lump in my throat.

Teyla's face showed concern. "Do you want me to find Dr. Lambert. Perhaps he can give you something for the pain?" she asked soothingly.

She thought I was in pain. Well, I was, but the kind of pain I was feeling couldn't be quelled by a hefty dose of analgesic.

"No. Thanks for asking. I'm just…scared," I admitted, as I felt the heat in my cheeks betray me, and show the embarrassment I felt at that cowardly admission.

Sheppard would never show his fear. He internalised everything, so nobody really knew how he felt. Occasionally I'd noticed emotion in his eyes, but as soon as he'd let that slip, up went the shutters, and the guarded expression returned – all in the blink of an eye.

He was always there for everybody else. But were we there for him when he needed us? He was a rock for Elizabeth, a hope for Teyla. A controlled figure for Ronon to look up to, someone who would take hold of Ronon's leash and steer him in the right direction. What was he for me? He simply got the best out of me. With his snarks and snide remarks, and his total belief in me, he pushed me further than anyone else would or could, and told me he knew that I'd never let him down. Well, it seemed after recent events I had. This latest disaster was error number two.

I'd failed Sheppard spectacularly when I'd behaved so single-mindedly concerning the Arcturus project. I had used our friendship, his trust in me, to persuade him to support me in continuing my experiment on the power source. I had, of course, nearly severed our friendship with my arrogance, along with destroying five sixths of a solar system. Strangely, the thought of our friendship ending disturbed me much more than the destruction of said solar system.

Sheppard had, however, quickly forgiven me, blaming himself for not reining me in. He always had to turn things around and lay guilt at his own door, when we all knew on that occasion that I'd screwed up in galactic proportions.

This time I'd let him down again, by not taking cover and running when I was ordered to. He'd paid the price for my cowardice, and I didn't know how I was ever going to forgive myself. I knew he would though – forgive me, that is. Sheppard wasn't a man to hold grudges, well maybe against that sadistic bastard Kolya, but I couldn't blame him on that one. Even when he'd had the chance to kill the man, he'd shown humanity, and let him go. I don't know many military men who'd have done that.

Teyla sighing interrupted my musings, as she nodded her head in understanding.

"I too am fearful for Colonel Sheppard's well being. I do not understand the details of his condition, but I saw the concern on Carson's face," she explained. "To feel fear is not something to be ashamed of Rodney," she admonished. "We all feel it, even Ronon," she simply said. "We should pray to the Ancestors and ask that they return John to us safely. Will you join me?" she entreated.

Pray? Again? I considered her request. No doubt she had in mind some ridiculous Athosian ceremony, involving singing and incense burning. Not really my sort of thing.

"Pray to ascended beings who are so high and mighty that they won't lower themselves to interfere in our mere mortal existence? They could help us, saving millions in the blink of an eye! How can you expect me  
to be a believer in the great divinity of the Ancestors, knowing all that? I think it's fair to say my heart wouldn't be in it," I blurted out, fervently hoping Teyla wouldn't deck me for my perceived blasphemy.

What she did next surprised me. She gently took my good hand, holding it lightly in her own warm hands, and looked me in the eye.

"I understand. Perhaps you have your own god to pray to?" She asked.

I snorted. "The only god I have is logic and science. They explain everything, so why bother with anything else?" I knew that wasn't exactly true, but how could I explain to Teyla my sudden desperate desire to converse with my own fabricated deity, when I couldn't even explain it to myself?

Teyla smiled again. "Then pray to logic and science, Rodney."

So that's exactly what I did. Possibly I asked my deity to save my friend, while simultaneously calculating the probability of Sheppard surviving, using an algorithm I had brilliantly devised. What did it matter? Teyla would never discover the truth; that I needed to believe a mystical, almighty and yet ridiculous power would magnanimously save my friend just because I'd asked it to.

I don't know how long I sat there, praying with Teyla. But, her compassion and friendship towards me that day affected me more than I could ever explain. It also may have saved our friend, and as the rumble of voices entering the infirmary interrupted our prayers, I knew the hour of reckoning had come. Carson was back.

I jumped from the bed, stifling a yelp as my arm reminded me it was injured.

"Carson?" I pitifully moaned.

He smiled tiredly. "He made it though the surgery, Rodney. No nasty surprises this time. We did miss a bleeder, and it was a bugger to find, but find it we did," he wearily explained. "He really held his own in there this time. He's in Post Op now, but we'll be returning him to Intensive Care shortly." I went to open my mouth, but his hand shot out to stop me. "Before you pitifully whine at me. Yes, you can sit with him," he added. "But only for a short while. You need rest, and I'm not going to be swayed this time."

I nodded in agreement, knowing I'd already pushed Carson to his limits. I smiled at Teyla as she squeezed my hand, and sat down again to wait for Sheppard to be returned to the infirmary. Teyla's prayers may just have worked. Of course, it could well have been my own deity coming through for me. Maybe it was both. I didn't care – I just wanted my friend back, even if it was so I could tell him that I really didn't want to be his friend anymore.

-oOo-

When Carson did allow me to sit with Sheppard, I really couldn't see that he looked any better than before he went back for more surgery. The ventilator still hissed rhythmically, the monitor still beeped. Tubes still covered Sheppard's pale body, and blood still drained from his damaged chest. Carson assured me that was normal, his chest was just recovering, and that the fluid and blood needed to come out.

When I suggested that perhaps he should be paying careful attention to how much blood Sheppard was still losing, Carson snapped, telling me that if I thought that the colonel was losing a lot of blood now, he was glad I hadn't seen how much Sheppard had been losing earlier. He may also have threatened me with a voodoo hex, but by then he was so angry that I couldn't understand a word he was saying; his Scottish accent having suddenly thickened in his ire. I'm sure I heard something about asses, chickens, haggis and rattles, but decided it was better just to nod my head and appear apprehensive and cowed, rather than to question his medical ethics.

-oOo-

The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur for me. I did get some sleep, in the infirmary bed next to Sheppard. I also watched as Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon visited the colonel, each giving him words of encouragement in their own individual ways.

Carson was pleased with Sheppard's progress. His numerous tests had revealed no obvious brain damage, though Carson was quite certain to remind me that he couldn't be sure until Sheppard regained consciousness. The man in question had been gradually weaned off the ventilator and had progressed onto oxygen in the form of a nasal cannula, which I knew he would bitch about when he woke up. He hated catheters more though, so I was looking forward to riling him about that.

Sheppard's sedation had been decreased too, and Carson was expecting him to wake up very soon, though he warned, again, that the colonel was doped up on morphine and other drugs and wouldn't be really lucid – nothing new there, I'd told him.

Wake up shortly, he did. His twitching hand had caught my attention first, then a soft moan. Blinking eyelids and another moan had me rushing to get Carson.

I watched as Carson stood over Sheppard, gently talking to him, encouraging him to join the land of the living again.

"Come on Colonel, I really need you to open your eyes for me," he encouraged his drowsy patient.

Sheppard squinted against the harsh infirmary lights, closing his eyes and frowning. His hand automatically reached for his face, and he groaned as it pulled on his wounded side.

Carson tutted sympathetically. "Aye, lad. It'd be better if you didn't move too much," he gently chided Sheppard. "You're in the infirmary, Colonel. You had a spot of bother off-word, and I had to perform a wee bit of surgery, but you're going to be fine, son."

Sheppard looked at Carson blankly, a puzzled and confused expression on his face. He rather reminded me of a lost puppy dog, and I had the overwhelming urge to pat his wild hair. He really needed to pay a visit to the poodle parlour, I suddenly thought.

Thinking better of petting the puppy, I positioned myself in his line of sight and smiled. "Hey. You're finally awake?" I asked. "Are you with us, or did your brain finally lose its last active cell?" I quipped.

Sheppard turned his head slowly and smiled weakly at me.

"My brain…cells…are…jus' fine," he whispered weakly, trying to swallow to ease his raspy throat.

Carson had had the foresight to bring ice chips with him, and deftly guided one into Sheppard's parched mouth.

"Is that better, lad?" he gently asked. "How's your pain?" he questioned further.

Sheppard greedily sucked on the ice, before whispering, "Thanks. I'm good."

Typical Sheppard. When anyone asked him how he was feeling he was either good, or not so good. Now, for your average grunt those were probably appropriate answers, but Sheppard, well he was hardly average, was he? – at anything, despite the picture he tried to paint.

Carson grimaced. "I doubt you're feeling good, Colonel. Are you in any pain?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

Sheppard slowly shook his head. "'M' good, really," he slurred.

"Okay. Just let me know if you need anything," Carson replied, and I saw him fussing over one of Sheppard's many IV lines.

I couldn't believe the man, how could he not be in pain? The frown, the beads of perspiration on his brow, the fine lines around his eyes. Exasperated, I reminded him not to be so – Sheppard-like.

"Oh, for goodness sake, don't lie there suffering because you think it makes you look manly, it doesn't. You just look stupid," I berated. Turning to Carson, I reminded him of his duty to his patient. " Can't you see he's in pain, Carson? For God's sake give him something!" I yelled.

Carson huffed out a breath of air. "I already have, Rodney. Do I look completely witless?" he asked honestly.

"Sorry, I didn't see you slip him something," I answered. "Though I'm changing nationality and pleading the fifth as to whether or not you look witless," I retorted. Fear always did make me lose control over my mouth.

I looked down at Sheppard, and saw him look at Carson.

"Thanks, Doc," he muttered drunkenly, the morphine obviously having taken effect.

"You're welcome, Colonel. Don't lie to me next time," Carson chastised gently.

Sheppard licked his lips as he closed his eyes, and whispered a pathetic, "Sorry."

His breathing soon evened, and I stood there feeling completely wiped out. Sheppard looked a mess, and I knew he wasn't just going to walk away from this.

I also knew I wasn't going to either. I'd weathered my first gun shot wound incredibly well, but I knew my emotional wounds were much deeper and raw. Looking at Sheppard I realised we both needed to do a lot of healing, and I just hoped that I would show as much bravery in my recovery as Sheppard would inevitably show in his.

Tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

_Thank you for the reviews! As usual, many thanks to Kodiak for her wisdom and support, and excellentbeta skills. All mistakes are still my own._

Over the next twenty-four hours Sheppard gradually improved, though not enough to lose his nasal cannula or catheter, much to his annoyance. Once I thought he was on the road to recovery, I stopped my vigil at his bedside. In fact I stopped visiting him altogether.

Suddenly I'd felt guilt, and my embarrassment at my cowardly behaviour simply got the better of me. That's not an excuse for abandoning my friend, there was no excuse, but as I had suspected, my recovery wasn't progressing as well as I knew Sheppard's was.

Sadly, I was wrong about Sheppard's physical improvement, as I discovered when Carson caught up with me in my lab, over twenty-four hours since my last visit.

I'd thrown myself into work, which was the only way I knew how to deal with the events I'd had to endure. I think my subconscious had erroneously determined that if I just buried my head in equations and Ancient technology that everything I didn't want to face would magically disappear. As if that would ever really work. Occasionally even I could be obtuse.

"Rodney?" Carson called. I noticed a rather brusque quality to his voice

I answered pretty shortly myself. "Over here. I'm pretty busy, Carson. What do you want?" I knew only too well that he had sought me out in my self-imposed exile to give me a dressing down about not visiting Sheppard.

Carson stood in front of me, forcing me to make eye contact with him.

"You've not been to see the colonel in over a day, and he's been asking where you are. He really could use a friendly face right now, and I can't keep making excuses as to why you're not coming to visit him," he sternly informed me.

Ashamed at my lack of backbone, I acted the way I always did when fear got the better of me– I lashed out, this time Carson becoming the unfortunate victim of my ascerbic tongue.

"Well forgive me for having a demanding job and a life of my own. I didn't realise I was at Colonel Courageous' beck and call! I mean, Sheppard snaps his fingers, and Lassie here heads out to find the brave hero's missing friend, bringing good old Rodney back where he belongs – at the colonel's heel," I yelled.

Carson took a step back at my outburst. "Rodney, I don't think you quite understand…"

"Oh, I understand, Carson. Sheppard is annoyed I'm not grovelling at his bed for forgiveness. I know I screwed up, but I'm not going to lower myself to suck up to him, okay?" I regretted my words instantly. Sometimes I really just couldn't stop myself. I can only presume the guilt had eaten away at me, as acid eats into flesh, and that I'd let my guilty conscience get the better of me, lashing out at an innocent Sheppard , when I needed to look at my own actions, not his.

Carson rarely lost his temper, I mean _really _lost it. Sure, he whined and complained, and, dare I say –freaked out, but he wasn't an angry sort of man. That is until he was really pushed to his limit – and I'd just succeeded where so many others had failed.

"You really are a self-centred bastard, aren't you, Rodney?" he shouted. "If you'd actually let me finish my sentence, you'd know that the colonel has taken a turn for the worse. Last night, he started running a fever, and in the early hours of this morning he developed pneumonia," Carson explained, and for the first time I noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the fatigue in his face.

"He's been asking for you the whole time. Not because he wants you to, how did you so sensitively put it? Oh yes, 'grovel at his bedside for forgiveness', because he knows you're feeling guilty and he was worried about you."

He looked at me sadly. "You really don't deserve a friend like him. God knows why he puts up with you." He turned to leave, then looked me in the eye. "I shouldn't need to explain to you, that in his present condition worrying about you is not helping his situation. He needs your friendship, and he needs to know you're okay. So get your head out of your arse, and come and see him. If you don't, you'll regret it, especially if he doesn't pull through."

With that he stormed out.

I just stood there, mouth agape, and realised that Carson was right, I had been a completely selfish bastard. While I wallowed in self-pity, avoiding a man who'd selflessly saved my life without hesitation, Sheppard had been worrying about me. He'd then become seriously ill again – and I'd not even known about it.

I suddenly knew what I had to do. I ran out of my lab towards the infirmary, my eyes burning, as I blinked furiously to stop them from watering. As I approached the infirmary, I slowed down and pulled myself together, knowing that Sheppard seeing me in the emotional state I was in would not help him in the least.

On entering the infirmary I heard Sheppard before I saw him. Tucked safely behind privacy screens, the rattling of his wheezy breathing echoed in the large room.

On seeing me, Carson walked forward, and nodded grimly.

"Rodney? Glad you lowered yourself to grace us with your company." He uncharacteristically greeted me with venom in his voice.

"I'm sorry, okay? I screwed up –again. I just want to see him, and apologise. If that's all right?" I asked, hoping Carson would capitulate.

Carson smiled grimly. "Of course you can. I'm afraid he's not doing so well at the moment, so I'll only allow a brief visit. Teyla's sitting with him, but if you want some privacy just ask her for a minute alone with the colonel."

As I pulled back the screen and headed towards Sheppard's bed I was shocked at the scene in front of me. Sheppard was lying in bed, propped almost upright, with an oxygen mask on his face. He was deathly white, with flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead, hair damp and sticking to his head. His breathing was noisy and laboured, and all the various monitors and tubes were still in place.

Teyla sat next to him holding his hand, quietly talking to him. As she heard me approach, she whispered something to Sheppard, and stood. As she passed me, she put a hand on my arm and squeezed it compassionately before leaving.

As I sat down next to Sheppard, he opened his eyes and looked at me, managing a weak smile.

I heard a muffled 'Hey' from under the mask, and struggled to control myself as I realised how seriously ill Sheppard had become.

"I won't bother asking you how you're feeling, as that's pretty evident, isn't it?" I began. "Look, I'm not allowed to stay long, so I'll get straight to the point. I've been a complete jerk, and I'm really sorry." I paused as I heard my voice start to crack with emotion. Coughing to clear my throat, I then continued, "There's no excuse for my behaviour, I felt guilty about what happened on the planet, and I didn't know how to deal with that. You know me, personal relationships aren't exactly my forté. I shouldn't have cut you out like that and I promise it'll never happen again."

Sheppard weakly lifted his arm, reaching out to squeeze my own.

"'S'okay," he croaked, before dissolving into a coughing fit, which set off various alarms, resulting in Carson running in to fuss over his patient.

Carson looked at the monitors and tutted in concern. Turning to Sheppard, he sighed,

"Colonel? Your oxygen saturation levels are continuing to fall. Your lungs are going to need draining, as I discussed earlier. They're full of fluid and that's why you're finding it hard to breathe. I was hoping I wouldn't need to do this, but the antibiotics haven't kicked in yet, and you really will feel better after." He paused, and I noticed a pained look on Carson's face.

"It's going to be a wee bit uncomfortable, I'm afraid. I can give you a local in the area I'm going to insert the needle into, but I can't give you anything for the general pain and discomfort. That could affect your breathing."

Sheppard nodded, and managed a managed to wheeze, "Do it."

"Right. Hang in there, I'll be back in a minute," he soothed, as he gently squeezed Sheppard's shoulder.

Carson wearily massaged his forehead with his hand, before turning to look at me.

"Rodney, I'll be wanting you to wait outside. This isn't going to be pleasant for the colonel," he stated matter-of-factly.

I looked over at Sheppard, and saw the plea in his eyes.

"I think he wants me to stay," I looked at Carson and mirrored Sheppard's expression.

"Colonel, do you want Rodney to stay with you throughout the procedure?" he asked in surprise.

Sheppard nodded again.

Carson appeared to be considering the situation.

"All right. Rodney? Can I have a word with you outside? We'll be right back, Colonel," he said brightly.

I followed Carson outside, swallowing in apprehension as I pondered what lay ahead.

"This is going to be extremely painful for him, Rodney. Are you sure you're up to this? I can't have you fainting on me. He needs your support, and for you to be strong. Can you manage that?" he asked in a warning tone.

I finally summoned all my mettle, and nodded.

"No, I won't faint. Yes, I can and will do this for him. I've let him down badly. I won't make that mistake again." I answered determinedly.

Carson considered my answer.

"Right. The sooner I get this done, the better," he stated, regret in his voice.

I returned to Sheppard's bedside, and babbled nonsensically for what seemed like hours, trying to keep his spirits up, knowing I had a chance to redeem myself.

Carson bustled in, equipment and nurse in tow.

"Rodney, can you help Melissa sit the colonel up? I have to do this with him upright," he informed me, in full-blown professional mode now.

As I helped to carefully sit Sheppard up, I was shocked at the heat radiating from him. He was drenched in sweat, and limp and lifeless as I held onto his left side, the nurse firmly yet carefully supporting him on his right.

"Can both of you keep a firm hold on him?" Carson asked both of us. We both nodded our assent.

Carson then slowly and calmly explained to Sheppard the procedure he was about to perform on him, and as I listened I felt my stomach rebel in protest.

Carson undid Sheppard's gown, slipping it forward off his shoulders, and swabbed his back. As Carson injected the local anaesthetic into the right side of Sheppard's back, I felt him stiffen, but he didn't make a sound. After waiting a few minutes, Carson looked at me and nodded before repeating the action to his nurse.

"Right, Colonel. I'm going to attempt to drain some fluid now. Try to keep as still as you can," he quietly told Sheppard.

"'Kay," Sheppard managed to weakly whisper through the oxygen mask.

As Carson slowly and carefully inserted one of the biggest needles I've ever seen into Sheppard's back he moaned, and I instinctively tightened my grip on him. My hand found his, and I felt his weak grip tighten as he tried to weather the pain.

"Well done, Colonel. I'll try and be as quick as I can," Carson soothed.

As Carson continued to drain fluid from Sheppard's right lung he periodically groaned in pain.

"Right. One down, one to go," Carson cheerfully reported as he withdrew the full syringe, placing it on a tray at the side of the bed. He took his stethoscope and listened to Sheppard's chest.

"Ah, that's much better. You did brilliantly, Colonel," he added.

I gulped as I studied the contents of the syringe, deciding it was perhaps not sensible to think too much about Carson's instruments of voodoo torture.

Carson then repeated the process on Sheppard's left lung, but this time Sheppard cried out as Carson stuck the needle deep into the colonel's back.

I felt impotent, but for once didn't think of myself, instead I soothed and encouraged Sheppard as best as I could, until Carson had finished.

As we gently laid Sheppard back on his pillows, he moaned quietly, but I immediately noticed his breathing sounded less laboured and wheezy.

"You sound much better," I commented, trying to extricate myself from Sheppard's weak grip. He didn't answer, and looking at him, I noticed he was finally sleeping.

The nurse pulled over a chair, and I sat down, Sheppard still clinging loosely to my good hand.

"Carson, is he okay?" I asked in a panic.

Carson sighed, but looking at his face I could see he seemed relieved.

"For the moment. That went really well. Now we just need the antibiotics to do their work, which they should. We've got him on the best one for the bacterial strain he's suffering from. Time will tell though," he answered honestly.

"You did good, Rodney. I think he needed you to get through that," he added. "He's sleeping now, and that's the best thing for him. You'd best be going now and getting some rest yourself," Carson instructed me.

I didn't want to leave Sheppard, not after I'd so badly let him down.

"Can I sit with him for a little while? I don't want to leave till I know he's going to get better," I begged.

"All right. I'll get Shelly to bring you something to eat." Carson smiled approvingly.

"You came through for him when he really needed you, Rodney. That's what friendship is really about," he wisely told me.

I nodded, and thought about Carson's words. Epiphanies rarely occurred in my life, but I'd learned that day that being a true friend meant putting aside my own insecurities, issues and feelings, to ensure someone I cared about got the support and help they needed. Despite the pain I felt, I realised I wanted to be Sheppard's friend, as it would be far more painful not to be. I resolved there and then never to let Sheppard down again. Maybe I was finally getting better at the friendship game after all. I just hoped I'd still have a friend to rely on me, and I waited again at Sheppard's beside, my vigil not quite so lonely this time.

Tbc.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

_Well, here's the final chapter and epilogue. Thank you for the reviews and kind comments. An especially big thanks to my beta, Kodiak. I really couldn't do this without her. All mistakes are sadly my own._

I realised I must have fallen asleep as I suddenly jolted awake, my neck complaining loudly as I moved. My head had been resting on Sheppard's bed, and the awkward angle my body had been positioned in hadn't done my back any favours. Yet more permanent vertebrae damage – great.

I looked at Sheppard, and was concerned to hear his breathing sounded laboured again.

I searched blearily around for Carson, and spied him sitting a few feet away, copiously writing up notes. Someone had obviously opened the screens while I was sleeping.

I stood slowly and painfully, and made my way towards the good doctor.

"Carson? Sheppard's breathing doesn't sound too good again. What's going on?" I asked in concern.

Carson looked up from his paperwork and grimaced. "I'm afraid it's worsened a little, which isn't entirely unexpected. Draining the fluid only temporarily relieved the symptoms the colonel is suffering, but it didn't cure the problem," he explained. "It's not as bad as it was last time, and his sats are reasonably good at the moment. He's sleeping soundly, and that's an encouraging sign," he added.

I really thought Sheppard had turned the corner – again. Sometimes life just wasn't that kind to me, was it?

"Is he going to be all right?" I asked.

Surely the man couldn't take much more. Recovering from a serious gun shot wound, having stopped breathing, having lost copious amounts of blood, just to contract a bacterial infection resulting in pneumonia, how much more could fate throw at us? How much more could my friend endure? I'd had enough. I'd learned my lesson: never abandon a friend, that guilt hurts much more than that from hiding away trying to forget he existed in the first place.

Carson frowned. "It's still too early to say. He's not any worse though, and that's the best we can hope for at the moment. Go and shower and get some food, you could use both," Carson ordered, smiling ruefully at me.

"No, I want to stay," I complained.

"Go. I'll sit with him. If he wakes up I'll tell him you were offending my olfactory senses, he'll understand," Carson quipped.

Realising Carson was telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't smell so good, I left to shower, and grab a sandwich.

"Rodney," he called. "Make it a long shower, and use plenty of soap."

As I hurried away towards my quarters, I heard Carson chuckling in the distance. Maybe things were finally looking up.

-oOo-

On returning to the infirmary, having only been gone for a little over an hour, I was alarmed to find a nurse by Sheppard's bed, sponging his forehead with a wet cloth. He'd been stripped, again, and a sheet lay loosely over the bottom half of his obviously naked body.

"What's going on?" I asked in concern.

The nurse, Melissa, looked up from her task. "Colonel Sheppard's temperature is up again. Dr. Beckett's given him medication to help, but it's not working as well as we'd hoped. So, we've resorted to this," she explained, pointing to a bowl of water, which was situated at the side of Sheppard's bed.

I nodded, resigned to the fact that my deity had really decided to teach me a lesson. '_Okay, message received, loud and clear_,' I wanted to scream from the highest spire of Atlantis. Enough already. I'd learned my lesson - really. Abandoning friends because I felt uncomfortable or guilty was bad. Knuckles firmly rapped, tail between my legs. I got it, I really did. Contrition oozed from my body. So why was Sheppard still suffering?

I ran to search out Carson, he'd tell me what exactly was wrong, and he'd know how to solve the problem. He always did, didn't he? His voodoo worked brilliantly. Yes it wasn't scientific, yes it was messy sometimes, but it had always saved my friend. Well, it had up to then.

"Carson!" I yelled in no particular direction.

It didn't take me long to find him. He was sitting on a chair at a desk in the far corner of the infirmary, writing furiously, cursing as he went.

He looked up at me wearily.

"Before you go into meltdown. Yes, the colonel's fever has risen. Yes, I'm surprised the antibiotics don't seem to be helping. Yes, I realise sponging him down looks archaic. No, you can't take pictures of him for future bribery. Finally, yes, I'm concerned." He paused, breathless from his monologue. "Have I missed anything?" he added, eyebrows raised.

"Not really," I admitted. "Though bribing Sheppard using pictorial evidence hadn't even occurred to me." It honestly hadn't. Carson was sneakier than I realised.

I looked into Carson's face, hoping to find some comfort there. What I saw, was exhaustion, worry and a helplessness that struck fear in me.

"This is a bit of a setback, but at least his breathing has settled down. It's just his body's way of fighting this infection. High temperatures do help destroy bacteria. Of course sometimes the body doesn't know what's good for it," Carson conceded. He ran a weary hand through his hair, as if trying to shake some alertness into his brain. "To make matters worse, three marines have come down with a stomach bug. We don't know if it's food poisoning contracted off-world, or something else. My staff are run off their feet, and I've had to quarantine the men. Fortunately Teyla's helping out with that. The last thing I need is Colonel Sheppard contracting something else," he explained wearily.

For the first time I wondered how Carson did it. How he managed to help everyone, and yet not buckle under the pressure. Sure, I thrived on pressure, and if I failed we could all die in times of crisis, but the battles Carson fought for his patients seemed never ending. The poor man seemed to get no respite. They were also very personal battles. He knew everyone on Atlantis, and treating friends must have been hell.

"What can we do?" I asked helplessly. Maybe Carson hadn't explored every avenue. Deep down, I knew better than that.

He put his paperwork on the desk and exhaled.

"Not a lot more. I've prescribed him another anitbiotic, but it can have a few nasty side effects, and I was hoping to avoid using it," he admitted.

"Nice," I commented dryly, as I thought about the side effects. No doubt copious amounts of unwanted bodily fluids leaving the body at incredible speeds. I really didn't want to go there.

"Look, I know this is frustrating. But we're honestly doing all we can for him. I'm sorry I can't tell you anything more positive," he apologised.

I nodded my head slowly in understanding.

"Is it all right if I sit with him?" I asked, hoping Carson would agree.

Smiling, he looked at me, and I could see approval in his features.

"Of course. You can take over from Melissa, if you don't mind? Her shift ended half an hour ago. She's a good lass and stayed to help with the colonel." He stood and I followed him to Sheppard's bed.

Carson patted the nurse gently on the arm.

"Rodney will take over now. Go and get some sleep, love," he told his loyal nurse. "Thanks for staying back. What would I do without you?" he asked honestly.

The nurse blushed. "You'd do just fine, Doctor," she answered, before passing the damp cloth to me. "Goodnight. If things get hectic, let me know and I'll come back," she offered sincerely.

"Aye, I know. Thanks." Carson grinned at the dedicated nurse in appreciation.

After she left, Carson instructed me how best to delicately mop my patient's brow - and other body parts too, but I don't want to think about that again - ever.

-oOo-

I sat there for six hours, dutifully wringing out the cloth, professionally sponging down Sheppard's fever ridden body. How nurses did that sort of thing all the time, was beyond me.

Sheppard had been pretty delirious for the first few hours, muttering under his oxygen mask, and recoiling from the cool water I was dampening his burning skin with. He did surface for the odd moment of lucidity, and I could have sworn I heard him ask me if I was all right. Was my deity trying to punish me more, by showing me how selfless Sheppard was? How diametrically opposed to me he was. Well, not any more. This whole disaster had changed me. I had metamorphosised into a different creature. It had taken thirty-seven years, but I finally understood the importance of human companionship - friendship.

I'm not making excuses, but the life of a genius isn't an easy one. As often goes with that territory, personal relationships weren't something I'd ever excelled at. My one true failure in life. Yet coming to Atlantis had changed that. Finding a friend like Sheppard had changed that. It may have taken something dramatic and life threatening to make me understand, but understand I did, and only too well. True friendship comes at a price. It's not about what you get out of it – that's a bonus. It's about what you give. It's what you can do for someone else, even, if in the process you find yourself hurting.

After a further two hours, Sheppard had actually started to improve. His temperature had fallen, and Carson told me he thought the new antibiotics were kicking in. I just hoped I wasn't going to have to witness any possible side effects that would just complete my crappy day – literally.

"I'm really sorry, Colonel," I muttered. "I let you down, didn't I? You've never asked for anything from me – well, except for me to perform inhumanely impossible feats on a regular basis. Which, I might add, I've always succeeded at. Well, except for Arcturus, but let's not get into that at the moment. But, other than that…" I paused, trying to think what to say next. After all, Sheppard was basically unconscious, and he wouldn't remember any of what I was saying, would he?

"You've really made me look at myself in the last few days, and honestly, it's not been much fun to accept what I've discovered. Sometimes you look in the proverbial mirror and you don't like what you see, do you? No, I'm not talking about your hair, before you ask. Or mine, for that matter. I'm talking about me – the person." I paused again, taking the cool cloth and wiping a few remaining beads of sweat from Sheppard's forehead.

"I haven't had a great time as far as personal relationships go. I've told you bits and pieces about that, haven't I? But that doesn't excuse my behaviour. Yes, I felt guilty, yes I was embarrassed, but it recently struck me I was feeling something else – fear. I was scared. No surprise there, I hear you say. I ignored you, because I was terrified of suffering the pain of losing someone I cared about." I snorted. What was I, a teenage girl? All angsty and emotional.

"God, you're making me blab like a hormonal teenager here. I've never been someone who likes expressing emotion, it's just so – unscientific and illogical." I cringed inwardly as I continued unburdening myself to my unconscious friend.

"Anyway, I've learned a lot about myself, and I want to say I'm sorry for my behaviour, and that I've changed."

"I kind of like you the way you are." I heard Sheppard's weak voice from under the oxygen mask.

I jolted in surprise.

"Colonel?" I asked, amazed that he was finally lucid – and conscious.

"That's me," he answered weakly.

Suddenly I remembered what I'd been saying to him, believing him to be dead to the world. "Tell me you didn't hear my little self-indulgent monologue? Because I'm pretty embarrassed that I actually said that out loud, but if someone actually heard it…" I put my head in my hands.

I opened my fingers and peered apprehensively through them, spying Sheppard grinning under his mask.

"Yep. Heard it all," he whispered.

"Oh God, just shoot me now!' I moaned, letting my head fall on Sheppard's bed.

I felt a tentative hand on the arm shielding my eyes. Looking up, I saw Sheppard gazing at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

"'S'okay, Rodney," he assured me. "I've learned a lot about myself, too."

"Right. Good, good. So, can we forget this ever happened?" I half-begged, sincerely wishing the ground would magnanimously swallow me up.

He chuckled softly. "Sure. Big macho men like us don't pour out their hearts to each other, do they?"

I grinned at my friend. "No, they don't. Not that I'd ever describe myself as macho. I prefer manly," I joked, bringing more levity to our 'so not discussing our shortcomings or feelings of friendship' conversation.

Coughing, I brought my emotions under control.

"So, you feeling better? You look and sound it." He nodded his head.

"You know you owe me big time. I've been sitting here mopping your brow tenderly for over six hours. Carson was short of nurses, and he thought I'd make a good one, only he knows why," I laughed.

Sheppard smiled. "Thanks," he whispered.

I noticed him taking in his surroundings and peering under the sheet. "Tell me you didn't undress me though, because I think that'd be taking our friendship a little far," he joked.

"No. Fortunately not," I answered truthfully. "I should go and get Carson. He'll be relieved you're finally awake."

Carson checked Sheppard over, grinning broadly, and informed us both that he was pleased with what he found. It finally looked like the colonel had turned the corner; Sheppard's fever had broken, and his chest was clearing. My very own god had heard my prayers, and in turn, had answered them.

Carson left to check on the progress of the marines, and I stayed with Sheppard, making small talk, generally being the supportive friend I'd transformed in to.

I was inwardly patting myself on the back, thinking how well I'd done to get through this nightmare. I hadn't behaved that badly, had I? It was all quite understandable, if you thought about it, and I'd been there for Sheppard when it really mattered, dealing with the blood, the bedside vigils – even the sponging down of his fevered brow. However, I was soon to get a sharp reminder not to lapse into the old Rodney McKay routine again.

As often happens, when we become too smug and self-satisfied, fate has a way of bringing us right back down to Earth again. I don't know if my imagined ethereal rock, who I'd so desperately created in my hour of need, was giving me a gentle kick up the rear end, or whether it was just more of my ever present bad luck. But ill fortune certainly seemed to like me sometimes.

As I was chatting to Sheppard, I noticed he looked uncomfortable. He weakly lifted the oxygen mask from his face, and started to mumble something. Trying desperately to be the reformed friend I'd morphed into, I leaned across Sheppard to return the mask to his face, and was about to chastise him in my new found firm, yet gentle manner, when he groaned – and promptly threw up all over the front of my jacket. As I screamed for Carson, I looked up, heavenward, and simply muttered, "Message received, loud and clear.' I understood this time – really.

Epilogue.

Sheppard spent the next four days vomiting up just about every internal organ he had through his mouth, along with violently expelling everything else out of another orifice. He really looked like shit – literally.

Being the friend I was, I weathered the unpleasant storm by his side, and when he came off the drugs, he improved dramatically. He was, however, still extremely weak, but was getting better every day. His internal injuries were healing well, his pneumonia had disappeared, and he was starting to eat again, well, eat what was tantamount to baby food.

Carson had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to allow Sheppard a pass out of his prison, and had agreed for him to be allowed out onto the nearest balcony, on the proviso that he was in a wheelchair, wrapped up like a baby, and only gone for twenty minutes. Carson would have had me burping Sheppard next, if he'd had his way.

As Carson and I had carefully lifted Sheppard into the wheelchair, I realised how thin and frail my friend had become, though nobody was more relieved than me to discover Sheppard had been given scrubs to wear. I'd recently seen quite a lot of my friend, and really didn't want to see any more.

As we sat on the balcony together, I watched as Sheppard breathed in the warm sea breeze. He closed his eyes and basked in the warm sunlight.

"That feels so good," he sighed in appreciation.

"Yes, it does," I honestly replied.

I saw him open his eyes, and turn his head to look at me. He scrutinised my features, and seemed to be thinking – always a dangerous thing for a man with his limited intelligence.

"You going to be okay?" he asked.

What sort of a question was that? Was Igoing to be all right? I wasn't the one who had clung so desperately to life, was I? Maybe, in my own way, I had.

"I think I should be asking you that," I replied.

He smiled tiredly at me. "I'm good. Going to take me a while to be up to using my skateboard again – but I'm getting there," he answered honestly. "You look tired," he commented. "I'm worried about you. I know this hasn't been a bed of roses for you."

I snorted. "No, though I think I'm finally starting not to smell like something you'd put on the flowerbeds," I quipped. I really couldn't do this again. I'd had enough of the touchy, feely emotional self-awareness crap, and I wanted things to return to the relative normality of life on Atlantis.

Sheppard smiled. "Yeah, sorry about that." He looked at me again, and I could see the concern in his face. "Seriously, are you okay?" he questioned further.

"We should be getting back now, we've been gone over half-an-hour," I said, trying to change the subject.

"Carson won't even notice I'm gone, Rodney. I don't want to go back yet. Please?" he begged. "And you haven't answered my question. Are you okay?" he pressed.

I knew I had to put everything behind me, so I took a deep breath, and let it all pour out, "I'm fine. I explained everything before to you, and I really don't want to talk about it again. I screwed up, I apologised, and I learned the true meaning of Christmas," I blustered, smiling at my last words.

"Ouch!" Sheppard winced. "Enough said. Look…I'm sorry if my actions upset you – and I'm really sorry I bled all over you, and threw up over you, among other things. I'll endeavour never to give you a repeat performance." He smiled warmly, but I noticed the fatigue in his face.

"Right. Time to return you to the Voodoo Shaman's clutches. I don't want him sticking my effigy with sharp pointy things because I haven't returned you to his lair," I joked.

Sheppard's shoulders sagged a little, but I knew instinctively how exhausted he was.

"Okay," he muttered in a sulky voice.

I chuckled. "Sometimes you really are a child. Carson would let you go if you were well enough. You're stuck in the infirmary for your own good, you know," I admonished.

"Not all of us actually enjoy lying on our butts doing nothing, while simultaneously being stuck with IV's and having thermometers stuck you don't want to know where. Oh and let's not forget the delicious infirmary cuisine," he whined.

I really didn't understand Sheppard's adversity to the infirmary. I actually liked it there. Still, takes all types, I suppose.

"Quit complaining. I swear he keeps you there longer than necessary just to teach you a lesson. At least everyone fusses over you. They can't wait to get rid of me, often dispatching me out of their clutches before I'm well enough to fend for myself," I complained.

Sheppard laughed, and I thought how nice it was to hear that. A few days ago he could barely breathe. I instantly made a note to be nicer to Carson, and to show him how much I appreciated his witch-doctoring skills.

As we entered the infirmary, my resolve suddenly disappeared.

Carson was standing there, hands on hips, looking none too pleased.

"Where the hell have you two been?" he demanded. "I thought I made it clear that you could have twenty minutes, and you've been gone for forty!" he yelled.

Sheppard grinned mischievously. "I told him to bring me back, Doc, but he said you were busy sacrificing a chicken and that you wouldn't notice I was gone."

I stood there, jaw hitting the floor. Well, wasn't that typical? Do a favour for a friend and you get no thanks, just a knife in the back.

Carson looked apoplectic. "Rodney? I can't believe you'd disobey my orders like that! I said twenty minutes for a reason, you know!" he shouted. Calming somewhat, he continued. "Help me get the colonel settled in bed, and we'll discuss this later," he added.

We got Sheppard safely tucked up in his bed; Sheppard lying there pale but smirking. He put his best puppy dog expression on his face, and looked up at Carson.

"Sorry to be a pain, Doc," he apologised.

Carson smiled fondly at his recalcitrant patient.

"That's okay, Colonel. I know how much you hate it here. Just a few more days, and you can return to your quarters, all being well," he soothed.

Sheppard grinned like a small child. "Thanks, Doc. I'll be good, and I won't let Rodney encourage me to go to the dark side again," he deadpanned.

Carson patted Sheppard on the arm, and went to leave. Sheppard gave me a lopsided grin. Sneaky bastard.

"You know, I think I've changed my mind. I don't want to be your friend anymore," I hissed at Sheppard. He gave me one of his innocent looks, and it took all my self-control not to thump him.

I was about to remind Sheppard about some of the embarrassing situations I'd witnessed him in recently, when Carson returned, with the biggest syringe I've ever seen.

"Rodney?" he called calmly. "I think you're looking a little peaky. How about I give you a nice big vitamin injection?" he asked seriously, though I couldn't help but notice the mad gleam in his eyes.

I shuddered. "Ah, well, actually, I have to go to…er, you know," I stuttered.

I heard Sheppard laughing in the background. That was until Carson turned to him.

"I don't know what you're laughing at Colonel, you need one as much as he does," Carson remarked icily.

I noticed Sheppard sink down into his bed, the laughing having dissipated at an incredibly fast rate.

I looked at Sheppard, then Carson, and did what I always did in situations such as that one – I ran to the sanctity of my lab, wondering what I had done to deserve my lot in life.

Once in the lab, I spied Zelenka working quietly in the corner. On hearing me enter he looked up from his work and smiled.

"Rodney. It's good to see you. Colonel is better, yes?" he asked.

I snorted. "Oh yes, he's better all right," I answered in an irritated voice.

Zelenka nodded. "That's good," he replied. "He is lucky to have a friend such as you. I did not think you had it in you to stick by him. You surprised me – pleasantly, for once," he joked – well I presumed he was joking.

I took in his words and realised he was right. I had stuck by my friend through thick and thin, and learned a lot about myself at the same time. I'd found that I had it in me to be somebody's friend, and no matter what fate threw at us both – I'd never let him down again, ever.

The end.


End file.
